The Uncivil Pillow War
by DarkClerk
Summary: "I have your Annie reel." In a fit of hurt anger, Troy reveals a secret and the pillow war gets personal. Annie/Abed.
1. Chapter 1

Saturday Night 9:37, Secret Summit

"Good. You're both here." Jeff nodded to Troy and then Abed as they glared at each other across the little courtyard.

Troy crossed his arms over his chest, "Make it fast, Winger. I have awesome battle plans to draw up."

"Nice to hear you're planning," Abed said flatly, staring hard at a bush.

"Okay! This has gone on long enough! You are friends. Friends work things out!" Jeff slammed open the door to the library and pointed through the door, "C'mon! I want to show you something."

"Jeff-" Troy protested.

"NOW!" The older man roared and the two scuttled through the door. Jeff stormed in after them, "This way!"

Taking the lead, Jeff marched them through the library, past overturned chairs and piles of abandoned feathers until they were standing in the study room itself.

"Do you see this?" He demanded, "Do you see what your stupid fight is doing to our home?'

Surveying the room, Abed noted the damage. The bulletin board hung crookedly on the wall, books had been swept off the shelves, the blinds were mangled, and one light blinked on and off.

"This is the cost of war. You are destroying what you love. And it stops now." He pointed forcefully at the floor, "I don't care how you do it but you will figure this out. . . or else," He looked at Troy, "And that is not an ultimatum. That is a promise." He pointed at each of them in turn, "Fix this," He repeated.

There was a long period of silence in which they refused to look at each other.

Finally, Troy ground out, "How could you write those things about me?" His fist clenched and his face contorted.

Turning toward him, Abed titled his head to the side and answered, "They were true."

"It doesn't matter! Don't you care about my feelings? _Why does everything always have to be your way?_!"

Abed blinked, "My way is better."

"Better, huh?" Troy's eyes narrowed, "You think you're above it all, don't you? I'm not the only one with weaknesses."

"I know," The slender man recited, "Robotic, unemotional, struggles to connect with other people-"

"I'm not talking about that," Troy interrupted, "I'm talking about _her_."

Abed went utterly still, so motionless he could have been a photograph until he answered, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You think you're the only one who can make insightful and potentially hurtful observations? I'm not blind! I see how you let her sit on the arm of your chair. How you make her buttered noodles just the way she likes them. How you hold her hand-"

"We're friends-"

"Sometimes," Troy said in a shaky voice, "Sometimes, you say her name in your sleep."

There was a long moment of silence.

"You can't prove anything." Abed insisted.

"I have the special footage."

An eyelid twitched but Abed's voice was as cool as ever, "What special footage?"

"Your Annie reel." Troy raised his chin, his voice colder even than Abed's, "What do you think Annie will say when she sees it?"

"You wouldn't-" Abed's eyes darted toward the door.

"I wouldn't what? Send a copy via special courier to Annie's way station with a note urging her to watch it immediately-"

But Abed was already moving.


	2. Chapter 2

But Abed was already moving, crawling with uncanny speed down the pillow tunnel. He took two lefts then a right, before exiting the fort through a small service access. It was only intended for emergency exits and maintenance issues but the moment felt like an emergency. He emerged in the south wing of the student union building and finally he could run. He calculated the distance as he got his feet moving. Between the enemy territory and the doors locked for the night, he should be able to reach Annie's makeshift infirmary in three minutes, seventeen seconds.

He did it in two minutes, forty-five seconds.

When Abed burst through the door, he found Annie sitting on a cot, highlighter in hand as she poured over a text book. She looked startled as the door flew open. He liked that about Annie. Her giant eyes exaggerated her expressions and made them easier to read.

She dropped the book and pen and came to her feet, "Abed! What's wrong?" She rushed to his side, "Is someone hurt?"

He shook his head, so breathless it was a struggle to reply. He leaned over, hands on knees as he worked to regulate his breathing.

Did she know? She couldn't. She wouldn't be so normal, so typically Annie if she knew. He'd never run this scenario in the dreamatorium. He'd never dared to face it even in theory. Stupid. So stupid. He wasn't _prepared._

She put a gentle hand on his back and made a noise of concern, "You're shaking like a leaf," she murmured.

I am? He wondered and realized it was true. Annie's hand felt like the only steady thing in the world as the floor rolled under his feet. Had his ground war become a sea battle?

I'm becoming hysterical he thought, watching his trembling hands like they were a million miles away.

She guided him over to the couch, "Sit down. Just try to breathe. I'm going to get you a glass of water." She returned a minute later and sat down next to him, putting the glass on the table beside him. Her small hand returned to his back to rub comforting circles just below his shoulder blades.

Her touch- what was life like before she had learned to touch him so frequently?

Like living in a hazmat suit. Like the 1976 made for tv movie "The Boy in the Plastic Bubble" starring John Travolta.

And still her hand was making gentle motions over his shirt. He wanted to bend completely in half, chest resting on knees so she could rub his back all over.

But he had to be sure.

Catching his breath finally, he asked, "Was there a message? Did someone bring you a package?"

"What?" Confusion wrinkled her brow, "No."

He studied her face, "Are you sure? You didn't fall asleep and wake up with a mysterious envelope lying beside you? There are no slightly sinister emails from an address you don't recognize? You haven't-"

"Abed," Annie interrupted, "No. What is going on? Is this about you and Troy's stupid fight? Aren't you ready to forgive each other already?"

He thought of how he had run across campus driven by fear and despair, wondering if Annie would ever look at him again.

"No." He told her flatly.

"Ugh!" She threw her hands in the air, "You're both being so stubborn! Drink that!" She demanded, pointing to the water forgotten by his elbow.

He picked it up and obediently sipped.

She took a deep breath and Abed forced himself to stare over her right shoulder instead of at the perfect rise and fall of her breasts, "Abed-"

"What are you doing here so late?" He asked suddenly, frowning as he surveyed the room. Her backpack was sitting in the corner. It bulged strangely like it held more than books, "Are you sleeping here? Why aren't you in the sleep study lab?"

She huffed an answer, "In case you haven't noticed, your little war has completely disrupted campus. The lab is closed. I had to make do."

He regarded the tiny room with disapproval, noting the narrow cots and the weak lock on the door, "You can't stay here. Can't you sleep over over at Britta or Shirley's?"

"There's no way I could sleep at Britta's. Have you seen the state of the grout in her shower?" She glanced down at her hands, "And I didn't want to impose on Shirley. She and Andre are going through a rough patch."

Abed nodded once, "Okay. I'll sleep here then."

" _Abed,_ It's Greendale- what could possibly happen to me here?"

"Remember the Halloween dance our second year when we all got roofied and Shirley had sex with Chang?"

There was a long pause before Annie admitted, "That's a good point." She nodded, "Okay, you can stay."

"Cool."


	3. Chapter 3

A huge yawn distorted Annie's features and she turned her face away, covering her mouth with a hasty gesture. Abed looked at her more closely, noting the smudges under her eyes and the excessive paleness of her face, "You're exhausted," He observed.

"No," she tried to deny it but another yawn washed over her and she slumped, "Okay, I'm a little tired." She glanced over at the cot, "It's just hard to sleep here. I miss the apartment."

He nodded briskly and stood, "We should go to bed. Do you want the cot or the couch?"

She looked at the short cot and then his tall frame, "The cot." She pushed to her feet, "I have some more blankets-" Hurrying to a cabinet in the corner, Annie pulled out a worn comforter and a set of sheets, "But I'm out of pillows."

"That's okay. I brought my own." Abed pulled his general's hat off and set it on the couch. He tilted his head to one side and then another. It felt good to be free of the weight of the hat, at least for a little while. Sliding past him in the narrow space, Annie began to make up his bed.

"What if your troops need you?" She asked, smoothing a sheet into place.

"They'll be okay for a few hours," Abed answered, "It will take Troy a while to regroup." He took a couple steps and reaching out, locked the door. The little click seemed loud in the small space.

When he turned back around, Annie was standing awkwardly next to her backpack. "I need to put on my pajamas," She explained, not quite meeting his eyes.

"Okay," Abed agreed blankly.

"I need you to-" She made a vague gesture.

He stared back.

"Turn around," Her hand flapping went from vague to impatient, "Turn around."

"Okay."

Abed faced the door again. He realized that while they slept in the same apartment, they had never been asleep in the same room. He had never even seen Annie in her pajamas. Three times he had caught her in her robe headed to the bathroom early in the morning but he had never seen so much as a dirty nightgown discarded on the floor of her room. Did Annie wear nightgowns, he wondered or oversized tee shirts like good girls in the movies? Something prim and old fashioned looking or-

He heard the zipper of her backpack and then a soft rustling. Abed reached out and let his fingers rest on the doorknob. It was as smooth as silver under his hand and the harsh fall of light from the fluorescents took on a softer quality.

Battle plans, he reminded himself. Imaging the layout of campus, he tried to locate the most likely location for Troy's next attack.

But he had taken his general's hat off and his mind, finely honed instrument that it was, didn't seem to want to focus.

The sounds behind him that should have been barely perceptible were deafening. The click of fingernails against sweater buttons, the rasp of fabric slipping over skin- Abed's adam's apple bobbed up and down. He should not be here, he realized. He was not prepared for this.

The thump of a skirt hitting the floor.

Abed's head jerked to the side as though from a blow. His mouth felt desert-dry. He could feel his heartbeat everywhere in his body- the shell of his ears, the pit of his stomach, the bend behind his knees. . .

The cot creaked and Annie said, "Okay."

Grateful for the cover of darkness, he flipped the light switch and made his careful way to the couch.

"Good night, Annie." His voice sounded surprisingly normal.

"Good night, Abed." She answered and the smile in her voice made his lips curve just a little as well.

The broken down cushions beneath him were not uncomfortable but his mind refused to quiet. It kept measuring the distance between his couch and Annie's cot. 2" 8' from the right handed corner of the sofa to the left handed corner of the cot. If he stood and walked to her it would take four small steps or two large ones. The angle created between their bodies-

Enough. He needed to sleep.

He would do what he always did when he needed to occupy his mind. He would watch Abed brain theater. Flipping through movie titles, he decided something light was in order and landed on 'Stripes', the 1981 Bill Murray vehicle about a rag tag army troop that uses their unique qualities to succeed in a situation stacked against them.

He was only three scenes in when a quiet voice interrupted, "Abed?"

Abed pushed pause on his brain movie, "Yes?"

"Do you. . . do you and Troy ever have bunk bed conversations?"

The young man froze, his finally relaxed body went from supple to taut, like a rubber band stretched tight. He didn't want to think about Troy. Troy was like. . . a plot hole in an otherwise great movie. A movie you'd watched dozens of times and enjoyed until someone pointed out the little bit that didn't make sense. And now every time you saw that movie, you couldn't get back to the same place of enjoyment. You couldn't unsee the flaw.

"No." He answered briefly, closing his eyes, trying to hear the exact tone of voice Bill Murray used as 'John'.

"Why not?"

Abed rolled onto his back and studied the ceiling, "I guess it's because we spent so much time talking and having adventures during the day, we didn't have anything to say by bedtime. Why do you ask?"

Her voice was small, "I just always wondered," A pause, "Sometimes, when I'm lying in bed at night, I imagine you guys in your blanket fort whispering secrets to each other. . . I was jealous. I never had a best friend."

Abed didn't have one anymore, either.

The thought was like a punch in the gut. No more Troy. No more best friend. Just a hole left behind by yet another person he had pushed away, somehow.

Listening, he heard Annie turn over, heard her breathing become softer and softer until it seemed like she had disappeared.

Desolation gripped him.

He couldn't lose Annie the same way he lost Troy. No matter what, Abed had to protect his secret.

He had to win this war.


End file.
